


Hear Now the Words of the Witches

by twiceborn-witchlighter (Brambleshadow_of_WindClan)



Series: Saving People, Hunting Things [1]
Category: Charmed (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Tumblr Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 19:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/twiceborn-witchlighter
Summary: Three weeks after landing in a new universe, Chris is on a hunt involving a vampire nest when he receives some unwanted help by a teenaged hunter by the name of Annabelle. Assuming that he's a fellow hunter, she takes him back to the bunker where she stays with her guardians Sam and Dean Winchester.There's a catch: Chris Halliwell is a Whitelighter-witch from another universe in hiding from his brother, the Source of All Evil. And Dean Winchester makes no secret of the fact that hehateswitches.(Co-written withannabellehareven-winchester.)





	1. Chapter 1

Chris Halliwell narrowly dodged the swipe of a vampire’s claws and telekinetically threw another against the wall of the warehouse where this particular group had made their nest.

It had been three weeks since he’d found himself in a different universe after trying to escape an attack from Darklighters under the control of Wyatt Halliwell, the Twice-Blessed good-witch-turned-warlock—and Chris’s older brother. Since then the 22-year-old half-witch half-Whitelighter had found himself moving from town to town, tracking down demons and other supernatural threats and doing what he could to vanquish them. It was rather difficult when he didn’t have the Halliwells’ Book of Shadows to refer to and the beings in this universe were different from the ones he was used to dealing with. In between stealing food and clothes while trying to find places to sleep, Chris was doing as much research as he could via Internet cafes and public libraries.

The vampire growled in anger and bared his fangs before lunging at Chris again. Chris ducked, tried to dive aside and found himself trapped in a corner.

“Great,” he muttered sarcastically then prepared to orb out.

Before he could orb, the vampire that cornered him was suddenly missing a head and the witchlighter was sprayed with dark blood.

The vampire fell to its knees then completely to the floor leaving a teenager with a machete standing in its place. The girl smirked at the man in front of her before turning his back to him to deal with the rest of the nest.

“A hunter and a witch walk into a vampire nest. How do you think the joke ends?” she asked over her shoulder as she took out a few more members of the nest.

Belle didn’t usually interfere with supernatural creatures’ wars, but she had heard that this witch wasn’t like any that she’d seen before. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her so she took the three hour drive to the next to check it out. Her sources hadn’t lied. This was an interesting case and she was determined to see it through.

Chris blinked vampire blood out of his eyes and sighed inwardly. So much for keeping his cover as a mortal hunter. If this girl knew he was a witch, then there wasn’t much point in keeping his powers a secret any longer.

“The hunter and the witch walking _out_ of the vampire nest,” he answered before reaching out with his magic. He telekinetically grabbed one vampire by the throat and lifted it up into the air, concentrated on twisting the head at an unnatural angle so that the vampire broke its neck.

Chris let the vampire fall unceremoniously to the floor as he reached for a machete and brought it down hard. Faint satisfaction thrummed through him as the vampire’s head became severed from its neck.

A few more dismembered heads hit the floor before the nest was cleared. Annabelle turned to the man and extended her hand for a handshake.

“I’m Annabelle Winchester. You’ve made quite a name for yourself in the hunter community considering no one knows your name or what you really are. You’re not like the other witches. Nice to meet you, Mr….?”

“Perry. Chris Perry.” He gave his usual alias without thinking. Even if Wyatt didn’t exist in this universe, Chris didn’t want to take the chance of anyone recognizing his family name and making the connection to the Charmed Ones— _if_ the Charmed Ones existed in this universe and timeline. “And thanks, I guess. I’m assuming that comment about not being like other witches was a compliment?”

“As long as you don’t suddenly decide to use your powers for evil, yes. I’m a Woman of Letters. Would you mind coming with me and answering some questions? You aren’t in trouble. It’s just for our files.”

Chris tensed, bristled. _I am_ not _evil,_ he wanted to snap. Instead he forced himself to relax and accept her invitation. “Fine, if I absolutely have to. Lead the way.”

He’d go with her for now, see what this “Woman of Letters” thing was about. Chris would rather have her and whoever she worked for assume he was a full witch rather than a witchlighter—so far all of the research he’d done led to the conclusion that Whitelighters didn’t exist in this universe. Hopefully that meant there weren’t any Darklighters either, but he didn’t want to take chances.

Belle led Chris to her car and drove to the bunker. Once there, she lead the man to one of the interview rooms. “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything to eat or drink? I can get it for you while I grab what I need.” 

Chris took a seat in one of the chairs. “Water and a sandwich would be fine, thanks.”

“No problem. Please stay in this room while I’m gone. I don’t want you to get lost. If you do, it’ll take days to search the whole bunker for you.” With that, the teen left to gather a notebook, pen, recorder, sandwich, and a glass of water in preparation for her interview with the witch. 

While Annabelle was gone, Chris leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, breathed deep and tried to dispel some of the tension. He sent up a short plea for help to Cerridwen.

His body was still wound up, still ready for a fight. Growing up in San Francisco under Wyatt’s reign, then as his brother’s lieutenant when he was older up until he’d betrayed him…

Chris’s grip tightened on the arms of his chair, turned his knuckles white. He couldn’t give in, _couldn’t_ have a panic attack _here, now_ , not when he was about to be interrogated by a mortal that presumably hunted witches…

A short time later, footsteps echoed through the long corridor outside and Annabelle reappeared in the doorway. The tension in the room seemed to hit her as if she had run into a wall. She stopped for a moment then came back into the room and set everything out on the table.

“Are you all right? You look a bit.. pale…”

Chris managed to draw in a couple deep breaths, shook his head. _Relax. Relax. He’s back in another universe; he can’t get to you here. …_

It wasn’t working. Panic had his heart beating faster, his chest tightening. Chris pushed his chair back so hard it skidded on the floor, then sank to the ground and curled up in a ball with his head between his legs and his hands clenched so hard his nails dug into his palms.

Annabelle watched with wide eyes for a moment before getting her bearings back. Countless nights spent helping post-Purgatory Dean through similar ordeals after nightmares gave her some idea of what she needed to do. She gave Chris space not wanting to make matters worse and spoke to him in a calm, soothing tone.

“Chris, I’m gonna sit down next to you, okay?” As promised, she sat at his side, but was sure to put some space between them. “Can you lift your head up for me please? If you do that, it’ll be easier to breathe. I’ll even take some deep breaths with you, and we can go outside if that’ll help.”

It took a while for her words to register, but when they did Chris slowly lifted his head and tried to breathe deeply, to sink into a meditative state (or, at the very least, an altered state of consciousness). His thoughts were too much of a mess to clear into a calming trance, but the breathing seemed to help a little.

“No outside,” he croaked. “Stay here. Can’t—”

He cut off the rest of his sentence, closed his eyes and breathed in deep. _Focus._ Anything that would help him cut through the overwhelming panic. “Is this place warded?”

“Okay. We’ll stay here. Yes. The bunker is warded against everything imaginable. I had to alter the wards just to allow you in. Hey, you’re doing a good job. Just keep breathing. We’re all right. We’re safe here. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

“Let’s sit up straight and put our hands above our heads. That’ll open up your chest and let more air in. Like this,” she clasped her hands behind her head and sat up tall. “And we can take some deep breaths together. In through the nose… And out through the mouth. Nice and slow.”

Chris followed her advice, gradually felt himself calming down as the panic attack eased up. Once he felt relatively calm and in control again, he glanced up at the water bottle and concentrated. It slid off the table and into his open hand.

The witchlighter unscrewed the cap and took a sip. He glanced over at Annabelle, tried to say _thank you_ but the words never left his mouth. “Interview?” he prompted after a few seconds.

Annabelle gave a small smile. “I think it can wait. Do you want some tea? I have some that’s made specifically to help anxiety. We can also move somewhere that doesn’t seem so foreboding if that’ll help?”

Chris smiled faintly, nodded. “Tea and moving would be great, thanks.” He slowly pushed himself to his feet, grabbed the edge of the table for support before snagging his sandwich and starting to head for the door.

She walked close at his side the entire way to the bunker’s kitchen in case he needed some support. It was a bit of a long walk. On the way, they passed several rooms filled with files, what looked to be a torture chamber, a few fairly bare bedrooms, and a huge library. Finally, they came to a kitchen.

Much like the bedrooms, it was bare besides the necessities and a few decorations to make it feel like a home. If it weren’t for the abundance of flannels, coats, shoes, and a few other personal items; one could assume that the kitchen was in a hotel room.

“Make yourself at home.”

Belle smiled and gestured to the table. There were enough chairs to seat six, but only three looked to be used on a regular basis. The teenager turned to the stove and picked up a kettle. She filled it with water, turned the stovetop on, and set the kettle down on one of the burners. She brought two rather plain blue mugs out of the cupboard, put them on the counter, and put a teabag in each before sitting across from Chris.

“That should be ready in about five minutes. Are you feeling all right? Do you need anything at all?” Annabelle asked, her head tilted slightly to the right.

“No, I’m fine.” Chris sat down at the table, eyed the sandwich hungrily for a moment before taking a bite. He chewed, swallowed, then realized how hungry he was and started to eat faster.

“How did you find this place anyway?” he asked, pausing in between wolfing down his food.

“It’s a long story, but the short version is I live with two other hunters and their grandfather travelled forward in time to give them the key so that they could restart the Men of Letters. It’s kind of nice. It gives us a permanent home and it keeps us busy, but not many people want to work with the Winchesters so it’s basically just us.”

Chris finished his sandwich and bit back a smart remark. Let her do all the talking for now—he was already working through exactly what to tell her and what he was going to keep hidden. At the very least he did not want her knowing he was half-Whitelighter and from another universe.

Putting on a casual yet wary demeanor, he leaned back in his chair as if he were mulling over her words. “I wonder why.” His tone wasn’t _quite_ as sarcastic as usual, but there were definitely traces.

The tea kettle let out a shrill whistle before Annabelle could respond, and maybe that was for the better. She got up and poured the boiling water into the mugs she had sat out. As she sat down, she sat the mugs on the table.

“So, where are you from?” she asked, deciding to move the focus away from her family.

“San Francisco,” Chris replied, reaching for his mug of tea. He took a sip, set it back down. He could tell her _that_ much, anyway, without giving too much away.

“What brings you to Kansas? Seems like it would be a lot more exciting there.”

“I crossed someone I shouldn’t have and needed to go on the run.” It was the truth, just not the _whole_ truth. “I ended up in Kansas after hearing about that vampire nest.”

Annabelle nodded. “You’re more than welcome to stay here until it all blows over if you’d like. I promise you wouldn’t be bored. We’ve got all the amenities one would want from a hotel and plenty of space plus enough warding to keep all of heaven and hell out.”

“Thanks.” Chris accepted her offer even though he wasn’t sure how safe she would be if his brother ever discovered him—or how long it would be for Wyatt to come after him.

He took another sip of tea, then idly started turning his mug around while staring intently at the tea bag inside. After a few long seconds of silence, he looked back up at Annabelle with intense green eyes. “As long as I don’t use my powers for evil, you said.” He found himself bristling almost involuntarily. Chris wasn’t new to the concept of witch hunters—Cernunnos knew he’d encountered enough after Wyatt had exposed magic to the mortal world—but even the slightest mention of them left a bad taste in his mouth. “Who decides that I’d get to be killed? _You_?”

Annabelle averted her eyes. She knew very well that if she and Chris became close, it would take a lot to get to the point where Annabelle would kill him or allow someone else to; and with them living in the bunker together, there was really no way around getting to know each other.

“I don’t know… I suppose it would be whoever found out and got to you fastest,” she answered. “Why?”

He shut down again at her question, cut off any traces of emotion. “I’m a witch. You’re a hunter. Mortals don’t exactly have the best track record with us once they find out we exist and magic is real. Do the math.”

“Well, the times have changed and I’m not heartless,” she snapped. She took a deep breath before continuing, this time calmly. “Do you really think I’d lead you directly to my home if I didn’t trust you and see you as an equal? If I wanted you dead, I would have let that vampire kill you or done it myself.”

Chris glanced away, sighed through his nose. “No, I guess not,” he admitted reluctantly. Then, cautiously: “You’d said I’d gained a reputation in the hunter community. What were they saying about me?”

“Some of them are how you think they are. That type was scared. The rest of us were impressed. We’ve never seen anything like what you do except from demons and angels, but you’re neither. The former wanted you dead. The latter voted to recruit you and keep you safe. We all think it’ll be great to have you in our corner when things go bad. There are a lot of people who want to meet you.”

“…Right,” Chris said slowly. _Come to gawk at me, more like._ “What else did you want to know about me? For your ‘files’.” He couldn’t help adding in a few drops of sarcasm on the word _files_.

“Nothing for now. It can wait,” she yawned. “Make yourself at home and take whatever you need. The first three rooms on the right are taken, but you can chose any other one that you’d like to be yours. I’ll knock when breakfast is ready if you’re still asleep when I wake up. Until then, goodnight.”

Annabelle gave a small smile and headed to her room.

As soon as she was gone, Chris left the kitchen area. He wanted to explore the bunker before going to sleep—as it was, he wasn’t very tired. If he could find an archive or a library, he could do some research, find out just what Annabelle meant when she and other hunters talked about witches (among other subjects).

He’d made it twenty strides out of the kitchen area when he had another thought (along with a sudden pang that came from missing his mother): he could cast a spell back in his room, try to ask Piper or Grams (or great-Grams) for advice… if they could hear him, that is.

Chris hesitated for a moment, torn between his two ideas; then he sighed and headed for a room to pick out after grabbing five candles, a pinch of rosemary, a Cypress sprig, a mortar and pestle, and a yarrow root. First he would try the “To Call a Lost Witch” spell for Piper; if that didn’t work, then he’d need the candles to summon his relatives’ ghosts.


	2. Chapter 2

Annabelle changed her clothes and completed her nightly routine before crawling under the blankets with her laptop intending to watch a movie before bed. She chose one that seemed most intriguing and settled in.

Once he had all the supplies needed for the spells, Chris chose a bedroom and sat down on the floor. He arranged the five candles in a circle, then sat down and set the mortar and pestle in front of him.

The witchlighter took a few moments to gather his energy and cast a protective circle—it was always best to have one when doing any sort of ritual, especially when working magic, and by now it was second nature for him to picture white light coming up through his body and forming a line around the candles. Once Chris felt that the circle was ready, he tossed the rosemary, Cypress sprig, and yarrow root into the mortar and ground it up with the pestle.

 _“Power of the witches rise,”_ he chanted, _“course unseen across the skies. Come to us who call you near. Come to us and settle here.”_

He reached into his pocket and took out a knife. Holding his left hand over the mortar, he made a small cut into his index finger and watched as the blood welled over and dripped into the bowl.

 _“Blood to blood, I summon thee.”_ He formed an image of Piper—his mother, as she’d been the last time he’d seen her—in his mind. _“Blood to blood, return to me.”_

Annabelle paused her movie when the chanting began and listened in for a moment, but felt as if she was listening in on a private conversation. She put one earbud in so she couldn’t make out the words, but continued to listen to Chris’s voice. When it seemed as if he’d finished, she knocked on his door.

“Can I come in?”

Chris tensed at the knock at the door, Annabelle’s voice asking if she could come in.  Instead of answering her he focused at the center of the circle, hoping that the spell would take effect and his mom would be standing in front of him as she had been in life.

Nothing.

 _“Blood to blood, I summon thee,”_  he chanted one last time.  _“Blood to blood, return to me.”_

“Shit, sorry.” Annabelle cracked the door open a bit and peered in. “It’s just that I’m not sure if I want you summoning anything into your room, but we have a room we usually use for spells that has a lot of safe guards….”

Chris stopped, sent a quick glare her way. “I know what I’m doing,” he snapped. Then he hesitated, sighed. If the spell had worked, then Piper would have been here by now. She hadn’t, which meant…

He shoved the thought aside. “If you must know, I was trying to contact some relatives of mine. But if you’d rather I didn’t invite anything into _my own room_ when I’ve done this particular spell several times already…”

Chris opened the circle, grabbed the five unlit candles, and walked over to the door. He studied Annabelle for a moment, took in her last statement. “You’re a hunter that works magic and casts spells, but you don’t call yourself a witch. Interesting.” A pause. “Where’s this room?”

“We only cast a few. It’d be an insult to witches for me to call myself one. Follow me… I know an angel who might be able to help you,” she offered in an attempt to make amends for intruding.

“I don’t need an angel to help me,” Chris muttered, but he followed the teenaged hunter anyway.

“Okay…If the person you’re trying to summon is dead, he could take you to visit their soul. He does that for me and my family sometimes, but it’s all up to you. Here it is,” she said as she opened the door to a room filled with spell books and with a table sat in the center of it. “Feel free to rearrange and let me know if you need anything.” 

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” Chris said as he stepped inside and started arranging the candles in a loose circle on the floor. He found a lighter, lit all five candles. Not caring if Annabelle stayed to watch him or not, he raised both hands with palms facing outward and chanted: 

 _“Hear these words, hear my cry,_  
spirit from the other side.   
Come to me, I summon thee,   
cross now the great divide.” 

Annabelle watched Chris with vague interest, mentally noting his process and words so she could research them later. She watched carefully to see if his spell would work. 

Chris waited with bated breath, half-afraid that this spell wouldn’t work either. Then he relaxed as shimmering orbs appeared in the circle and solidified into a spirit.

Moments later, he frowned: This ghost wasn’t one of the Warren ancestors that he was familiar with. Woman, red hair, dark eyes, pale skin, late twenties.

“Who are  _you_?”

“I’m Charlie. Who are  _you?”_ she asked, equally perplexed.

“Charlie, as in the first woman of letters who also helped take down Dick Roman and was an all-around badass? That Charlie?”

“Yep! That’s me!”

Annabelle’s eyes widened as she stared at the spirit in awe. “Whoa! I’ve heard so much about you! You were awesome!”

“I wasn’t  _that_  awesome, but thank you.” Charlie blushed.

The witchlighter cleared his throat. “I’m Chris. This is Annabelle. She’s a hunter. And you were  _not_ who I was expecting to show up.” 

“Well, now you’ve got me. What were you looking for?” Charlie asked indignantly. “You cast the spell and now you’ve got me.”

“Don’t be so rude, Chris. She’s legendary.”

Chris had the sense to look chastised but not by much. He rolled his eyes. “I was trying to contact one of my relatives, if you must know. Obviously, I got you instead. Now, do you mind going back?” 

“Maybe if you asked nicely, I could help, but if you don’t want me here I guess I can go…” Charlie started to step away.

Chris opened his mouth to tell her that yes, he  _didn’t_ want her here and if she could go back that would be great. Then he hesitated, looked over at Annabelle. “What do you think?”

“She might be able to help. She’s very loyal and trustworthy from what I hear. Might as well give her a chance,” she shrugged nonchalantly, but still had a look of awe in her eyes.

The witchlighter sighed and rolled his eyes a little before facing Charlie again. “Okay, fine, you can stay. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a Penny Halliwell, have you? Or a Melinda Warren?”

“No, but I can ask around and return to you once I know if anyone else does,” Charlie suggested. 

Chris relaxed by about a hair. “Then do it.” If his “To Call a Lost Witch” spell hadn’t worked, then this was the only other way he could think of to find out if his family existed in this universe. 

Charlie stepped out of view for about five minutes before her return.

“Sorry, but none of the spirits I talked to had ever heard of either of those women.”

Disappointment flashed across Chris’s features before he masked it with feigned indifference. “Oh.”

He wasn’t sure why he’d expected either of his spells to work—new universe, after all—but all the same Chris’s shoulders suddenly felt heavy with a whole host of negative emotions. It hurt, strangely, knowing that his family had never existed in this timeline/universe. On the other hand, it was a relief: Wyatt not existing in this universe would mean that his brother’s alternate self would not be able to find him—and it meant that  _if_ Wyatt ever discovered him, then Chris would know it was  _his_ brother from their own timeline.

“I’m sorry, Chris… Who were they?” Belle asked. 

“My ancestors.” It was all the information he was willing to give her at the moment—well, since Annabelle already knew he was a witch, he figured a little more wouldn’t hurt. “Powerful witches. Melinda Warren was the progenitor of our family line.” 

He closed his eyes, tilted his head back for a few seconds to help collect his thoughts. Part of The Witches’ Creed rang through his head:  _Hear now the words of the witches, the secrets we hid in the night. When dark was our destiny’s pathway that now we bring forth into light. …_

His eyes blinked open; he brought his head back to its normal position and eyed Charlie, then Annabelle. “I shouldn’t tell you any more than that.”

“Okay… I suppose I should be going,” Charlie prepared to step back into the spirit realm.

“Thank you for your help, Charlie.”

The redhead nodded in response and disappeared. Annabelle, however, had more questions for Chris rather he wanted to share or not.

“So was she your great great grandmother or something? How come we can’t find her?” Belle asked curiously.

“She’s from further back in my family than that. As for why we can’t find her…” Chris hesitated. “I have a theory about that. I don’t think you want to hear it.”

“I do!” she exclaimed. “You’re probably right and I could help you get to where you could find her if you told me.”

Chris shook his head. “No. Besides, it’s late. Both of us should be asleep by now.”

As he spoke, Chris found he could barely keep his eyes open. Tiredness slammed into him, turned his brain to fog.  He stifled a yawn and then set about opening the circle. When he felt that the last of the energy had drained away, he said, “The circle is open but unbroken. Till we merry meet and merry part and merry meet again. Blessed be.”

Satisfied that the ritual was over, Chris blew out the candles and telekinetically set them on a nearby table before he turned to face Annabelle. 

“So, bed? We can talk later in the morning.”

“All right, but don’t think I’ll forget this conversation. Sleep well, Chris.”

Annabelle retired to her room, but found it hard to sleep. Her mind raced at the possibilities of what the witchlighter’s theory could be, but eventually, her eyes drooped shut and she found herself in a deep sleep.

As soon as Annabelle had left, Chris orbed to his own room and fell into bed without bothering to undress. Within seconds of closing his eyes, he was fast asleep.

If he had any nightmares, he didn’t remember them when he woke the next morning.

The scent of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and coffee wafted through the air. Three voices could be heard faintly from the kitchen. 

Chris rolled out of bed and walked into the hallway, following the sounds of voices and smell of freshly-made food to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Annabelle with two older men that were unfamiliar to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Annabelle smiled up at Chris and offered him a seat.

“Come sit down. This is my dad, Dean, and my uncle, Sam. We saved you a plate!”

Sam and Dean nodded in turn at Chris when Belle said each of their names and gave somewhat welcoming smiles.

Chris nodded at Sam and Dean, gave a wary half-smile, and sat down in the offered seat. “I’m Chris,” he said, pulling his plate toward him and starting to load it up with food. “You, uh, don’t mind that I stayed overnight, do you?”

“We trust you as long as Annabelle does,” Dean answered. “She says you had a close call last night. You’re lucky to be alive.” 

Chris paused, glanced up at the hunter. “Thanks,” he said slowly, “but I was handling it.”

His eyes flicked from one Winchester to the other before settling on Annabelle. Had she told them that he was a witch?

Her eyes met his and she winked. “I was just telling them that you seem to be an extraordinary hunter and that it’s a shame we haven’t run into each other before this.” 

Chris relaxed a little at her wink and statement: Her guardians  _didn’t_ know he was a witch.

Good.

He wanted to keep it that way.

In answer, he lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I was only in Lawrence because of the vampire nest. Before then I was just… drifting, on the road. I didn’t even know I had a reputation in the hunter community until Annabelle mentioned it.”

“I’m glad she found you. Maybe we can form an alliance,” Sam suggested. 

“It’s all up to you, Chris. We don’t have many friends as I mentioned so we get a little excited when someone new comes along. It doesn’t even have to be about hunting. We could just provide you with a place to call home, food, and support if you ever need it,” Belle explained. 

Chris’s defenses slammed up instantly when Sam mentioned forming an alliance and Annabelle offered the bunker as a home. He didn’t trust hunters any further than he could throw them. If Sam or Dean found out he was a witch, there was no doubt in Chris’s mind that they  _would_ kill him.

Besides, this  _wasn’t_ his home. He needed to find a way back, to enact the plan he’d secretly come up with to travel back in time and change his future.

Still… he supposed it couldn’t hurt to stay for a short while…

“I’ll think about it,” he said, then started to dig into his breakfast.

Dean passed his eyes over Chris suspiciously. He wasn’t as sure about Belle’s judgement as Sam was and didn’t quite trust the stranger yet.

“Where are you from, Chris? What got you into this life?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light. 

Chris swallowed a bite of food, met Dean’s suspicious gaze with cool green eyes. “San Francisco, originally. As to what got me into this life…” He let out a short, hollow laugh. “I was born into it—didn’t have a choice. Then demons killed my mother when I turned fourteen. The rest of my family except my brother and a few cousins died the following year.”

He’d left out a few details, but all of that  _was_ true. Sometimes Chris envied human hunters; other times he thought they were insane—they’d  _chosen_ the hunting life even when they didn’t have powers, didn’t have forces of evil coming after them what seemed like every other day. Then again, they  _also_ didn’t discriminate against whatever they killed—in Chris’s experience, it was more often than not “kill first and ask questions later”.

“So, Dean, what got you and Sam into the hunting life?”

“Our dad. We didn’t have much choice either. Sam tried to get out of it but he got pulled back in. As for the kid, they won’t leave her alone. They killed off all her relatives,” Dean answered with a nod to Belle who was suddenly very interested in her pancakes.

“I’m sorry.” Sympathy and pain flashed briefly in Chris’s eyes, then were gone. It sounded way too much like his world, where families hardly existed. He glanced down at his plate, started to cut up a piece of sausage. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Belle shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I’ve got Sam and Dean now. They’ll never be replaced, but I know I’m not alone.” 

“Consider yourself lucky,” Chris muttered darkly, focusing intently on his breakfast. He stabbed at another piece of sausage with his fork, chewed, swallowed. Green eyes lifted to eye Sam and Dean. “Anything else you wanted to know, or is that it?”

“What’s your specialty?” Sam asked. “I’m good at research, Dean’s better with the physical stuff, and Belle has enough energy for both. Do you have a preference?”

“Research, but I can fight if I have to,” Chris said. “I’m also good at going undercover.” 

“None of us are all that subtle. That’ll be great if we need to go undercover.” Sam smiled kindly.

Chris offered Sam a thin smile. “I meant going undercover with groups of demons, warlocks, the occasional vampire nest—not with humans. But I could do that too, if I had to.”

“We’re fine as humans,” Sam clarified as each of them took out a fake FBI badge. “We do need help in the supernatural creatures undercover department.” 

Chris eyed the fake FBI badges with faint suspicion—even though his uncle and one of his family’s closest friends had been cops, he still didn’t trust law enforcement. Or hunters pretending to be law enforcement.

“You do realize masquerading as a federal agent is a felony?” was all he said, though it was more statement than question.

Belle’s eyebrow shot up. “You think that’s all they want us for? It’d be easier if the cops would get out of our way, but that’s never gonna happen so we have to do it our way.”

The witchlighter scoffed and leaned back in his chair. “Do you  _really_  think I  _don’t_ know that by now?” he snapped. “You’re not the only hunters that have had cops get in the way.”

Irritation flashed in his eyes, didn’t completely die away. “My family used to have friends who were law enforcement. One died. The other eventually had enough of covering for us and moved across the country. Then the FBI started sniffing around. Being tied to one too many missing persons cases or other mysterious homicides sure catches their attention.”

Cold eyes flicked from Annabelle to Sam and Dean. “But then again, I’m sure you know all that already.”

Goddess, he  _hated_ having conversations with mortal hunters, especially ones that thought they knew everything.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that,” Sam covered. “She just meant that we’re aware of the laws we break.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Right. And let me guess, there’s several different warrants out for your arrests.”

Sam nodded, glanced at Belle questioningly. In turn, the teen shrugged. 

“I thought it was a given for hunters,” she said. 

Chris shrugged. “Mortal hunters, maybe,” he muttered under his breath.

Belle and Sam shut up and finished their meals. Sam and Dean left the kitchen for the library and Belle began to clean the kitchen up.

As soon as Chris was finished eating his breakfast, he helped Annabelle with cleaning up the used dishware and leftover food.

Though he worked in silence, he would occasionally steal glances over at the teenage hunter, wondering if he should apologize. Then he decided against it—it wasn’t as if he’d done anything  _wrong_ , and besides, it had always been hard for him to say he was sorry for anything.

It had never done him any good when he’d grown up with an absent father, after all. 

Resentment burned through Chris at the thought of Leo, and he set his stack of dishes down on the counter with a little more force than was necessary. A moment later he turned away from the kitchen and started to walk out.

“I’m going to go find Sam and Dean.”

Annabelle flinched a bit at the sound of the dishes being dropped on the counter and glanced at Chris before she began to put them in their cupboards. 

“They’ll be in the library. They might be on the phone so be quiet when you first go in.” 

Chris raised a hand to show that he’d heard her and kept on walking. As soon as he was out of sight of the kitchen, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, focusing as he sensed for the Winchester brothers. Technically, the hunters weren’t his charges—no one was, since as far as Chris could figure out Whitelighters didn’t exist in this universe—but that didn’t stop his Whitelighter half from wanting to act as a guide for  _someone._

Once he had their location, Chris let his body relax into white lights and orbed to just outside the bunker’s library. Opening the door, Chris stuck his head in and looked around before fully entering the library.

Already a vague plan was forming in his head. It might be possible, he supposed, for him to hide his witch half from Sam and Dean but pass himself off as a full Whitelighter—introduce himself as their guardian angel. Around Annabelle, he could pass himself off as a full witch and hide his Whitelighter half. The only problem would be making sure the brothers kept it a secret from their adopted charge, but perhaps a spell would take care of that?

In any case, he was fairly sure Sam and Dean would have further questions for him. Or, Dean would, at least. Sam seemed to trust Annabelle’s word already—and Chris wasn’t entirely sure that that was a good thing.

Stepping up behind where the two hunters were sitting, Chris quietly cleared his throat.

Both men jumped, startled by Chris’s arrival, and turned to look at him. 

“Is there something you need?” Dean asked in a not-so-friendly tone.

Chris lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Not exactly, no. I just figured you would have more questions for me that you didn’t want to ask in front of Annabelle.” He hesitated, shifted his weight, and wondered if coming out as a sort-of guardian angel to two hunters was a good idea.

“Are you really what you say you are?” 

No, mentioning that he was half-Whitelighter to a couple of hunters  _really_ didn’t strike Chris as a good idea. Even so, he couldn’t help eyeing Dean warily. “I  _am_ a hunter, if that’s what you mean." He paused, considering, and decided to take the plunge. "I'm also a witch—a  _good_ witch.”

“Is that all?”

Chris’s expression hardened as he looked Dean in the eyes. “I haven’t sold my soul to the Devil if that’s what you’re worried about. And I’m not planning on murdering any of you. I follow the Rede: An’ it harm none, do as you will. Of course…” Chris unfolded his arms, let them hang at his sides with one hand slipping into his jeans pocket. “That doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t fight or kill if it’s necessary.” Selling your soul to Satan was rather difficult to do if you didn’t believe in him anyway, and like all Wiccans Chris didn’t believe in the Christian Devil. “Is that all, or did you have more questions for me?”

“No. Go away.”

“Calm down,” Sam chided. “If he wanted to kill us, he would’ve done it by now.”

“Something’s off about him. Don’t you feel it?”

Chris’s half-smile held little humor; his head cocked to the side as he studied the older Winchester. “Define ‘off’, Dean.”

“Just off. I think you’ve got secrets and lots of them.”

“What, and you don’t?” Chris fired back. The half-smile was instantly gone, all of his walls firmly up. “Newsflash:  _everyone_ has secrets of some sort, Dean. That includes you and your brother there.”

Goddess, he  _hated_ dealing with mortal hunters—being around Sam and Dean this long was making him edgy (admittedly, it was Dean more so than Sam).

“I still don’t trust you. If anything happens to Annabelle around you, make no mistake, I’ll kill you.” 

“Hunters. Shoot first, ask questions later. Typical.” Chris scoffed in disdain. “For the record, I don’t trust you either, Dean.”

His gaze switched to the younger Winchester. “And you, Sam?”

“Annabelle has a kind heart, sometimes too kind for her own good, but I trust her. If she says you’re cool, then you’re cool with me,” Sam shrugged.

Chris just nodded.  _At least one of you trusts me._ “Fine. Now if that’s all, I’ll just…” He backed up, pointing to the door over his shoulder. “…leave.”

“See ya.” Dean’s voice was icy. 

“Later.” As much as Chris wanted to orb out right then, he knew it would be a bad idea and only confirm Dean’s suspicions that he was hiding something from them. So he just turned around and walked out of the library, heading to his room from last night.

Belle met him at his door.

“Everything okay?”

Chris shrugged one shoulder. “Aside from the fact Dean doesn’t trust me—not that I’m surprised, given hunters’ track records—and I don’t dare go back home yet… yeah, everything’s fine.”


End file.
